He was a big man with a black moustache and a red face, and 'is fingers all smothered in di'mond rings. He 'ad got on a gold watch-chain as thick as a rope, and a scarf-pin the size of a large walnut, and he had 'ad a few words with the barmaid on 'is own account. He seemed to take a fancy to Rupert from the fust, and in a few minutes he 'ad given 'im a big cigar out of a sealskin case and ordered 'im a glass of sherry wine.
“Have you ever thought o' going on the stage?” he ses, arter Rupert 'ad told 'im of his dislike for the Army.
“No,” ses Rupert, staring.
“You s'prise me,” ses the big man; “you're wasting of your life by not doing so.”
“But I can't act,” ses Rupert.
“Stuff and nonsense!” ses the big man. “Don't tell me. You've got an actor's face. I'm a manager myself, and I know. I don't mind telling you that I refused twenty-three men and forty-eight ladies only yesterday.”
“I wonder you don't drop down dead,” ses the barmaid, lifting up 'is glass to wipe down the counter.
The manager looked at her, and, arter she 'ad gone to talk to a gentleman in the next bar wot was knocking double knocks on the counter with a pint pot, he whispered to Rupert that she 'ad been one of them.